The Road to Ruin
by jessyswritingside
Summary: No… No, I never thought it would come to this… This… I've never made this huge mistake… The mistake of loosing him…
1. Walking Through a Normal Day

_No…_

 _No, I never thought it would come to this…_

 _This… I've never made this huge mistake…_

 _The mistake of loosing him…_

* * *

 **JOHN'S POV**

How long has it been? I mean, it took a lot of patience, I mean a BUNDLE of patience, tolerance, and handling to cope up with this dynamic and enigmatic person. This man beside me who's talking up highly as to make everyone look stupid and acknowledge his brilliance and intelligence, is my flat-…

Well, let me hold that thought… is unfortunately my flatmate.

The bastard's name?

"Sherlock Holmes, are you getting insane?" Lestrade shouted, getting me back to reality.

"Well, you want to solve this series of murder cases do you, Detective Inspector?" Sherlock said, as to indicate a tone of sarcasm.

"Mocking me again, huh?" Lestrade now raises an eyebrow. I think it's time for me to step in.

"Err, I…"

"Well, if you are desperate enough to figure anything else, which evidently is not the case, feel free to call me anytime, or John." Sherlock ended the conversation, turning his back from the Scotland Yard officer. "Let's go, John."

Lestrade scoffed, as I mouthed to him, "Gotta go."

"What was that about?" I scowled at Sherlock, trying to get my tone higher.

"Oh come on John, stop scolding me in the process. I'm trying to get us a case."

"Yes, a case which you know they can handle. They just need you at desperate times Sherlock, not every time. If you knew, you never wanted to be a consulting detective, rather you should've been a Yarder."

"Don't make this a big deal anymore."

Sherlock called a cabbie not far enough. He was the first to climb up in the car. As soon as I got in, I was about to still tick him off, but he had already closed his eyes, as if drifting off into another universe. This view of him, of him being so calm is the very opposite of that nagging, self-important man I saw earlier puts me in a state of tranquility.

It's not like I'm Sherlock Holmes's best friend.

 **SHERLOCK'S POV**

I'm tired.

I'm tired of not having a case, of always having to hang around the flat, of John's "how being a human even in some minimal extent" lectures. But who am I to complain? After all, he is my best friend and I like him accompanying me.

Even though I was shutting my eyes, I could tell that he is looking at me sternly, observing what my thoughts were.

"I'm sorry." I opened the conversation with him.

"Hmm?" he replied. I opened my eyes and looked directly at him. He immediately turned his head to the cabbie's window, as if looking at the street, which is really obvious to him.

"You know I'm irritated with my brain not working over complicated things. Gets rusty."

"Yeah. But what I just want is you to approach other people gently, not turning them down at the instant they open their mouths." Now he's having a direct eye contact with me.

"Still working on it. How should I say this, um, baby steps for character development?" I smiled ending the statement. I found a tingle of a smile forming on his face.

"Well, we wouldn't want to immediately rush to it, right?" We both giggled.

This man, in his black jacket and even in his small height, is the only person who can control this machinelike personality of mine. He is my buffer system.

* * *

 _Huff_

 _Why is it dark in here? Where am I?_

 _Wait, am I holding something? Is this… an ax?_

 _An ax with a lot of blood?_

 _John? John?!_

 _John, who-… why are you lying on the ground, bloody? Who the fuck did this to you?_

 _Why are you pointing at… no, no this can't be!_

 _Don't say that I… I…_

 **JOHN'S POV**

Finally! Lying on the couch is still my best past time. Partnered with a nice cup of English tea is a very effective stress reliever. I grabbed the remote and hovered over the channels. Apparently, they have redecorated the interior of the Buckingham. The rest is the usual stuff, thus the boring ones. Don't know if I had set a high standard on TV news now given that I witness most of them, and where some I even took part of.

The whole flat is quiet now. Setting Mrs. Hudson aside who is still watching a baking show since her TV volumes were so loud. Sherlock must have fallen asleep, or else he will be tinkering with that microscope of his. Hmm, Sherlock falling asleep is a rare phenomenon. He must be really tired looking for a case to suit him.

I realized that I haven't checked my blog recently. Currently, I have published a total of 32 cases and now the counter has risen about a thousand. And yet currently I have nothing to put here. I now feel Sherlock's disappointment.

I was about to reread one of our recent cases when…

 _No, no this can't be!_

"Sherlock?" I knocked at his door hard. "Sherlock!" I called out once again. I turned the door knob. It's locked.

 _Don't say that I… I…_

"Hey Sherlock, wake up!" I tried calling hard from the other side while banging his door in the hopes of waking him up. Then I heard something fall on the floor, more like a lamp. "Sherlock." I called him. There was no response, and it bothers me.

"I'm fine John." Finally, I heard him. But his voice… it's as if his panting.

"Open the door. Are you alright?" I was expecting for him to open it.

"I'm good. Sorry for disturbing you. Please go back as you were."

"I sure as hope that you're telling the truth."

"Yes, I am. Probably an effect of not getting sleep from the past weeks. Body adjustments."

"Sure you don't want to…"

"Good night John."

Silence, then walked toward that portion of the flat.

 **SHERLOCK'S POV**

 _Why?_

Why did I have such nightmare? And on top of all, why am I covered with John's blood? What happened? How could I such do things?

 _Snap out of it!_

I calmed my hardwired brain. Logic. Logic puts me right back on track. I breathe deeply. I still do not have an explanation whatsoever in the meaning of such dream. But I would entrust that to its scientific and logical explanation: maybe the side effects of narcotics. I looked at the portion of the floor where the shattered pieces of the light bulb lie from the fallen lamp. As I contemplate, my own eyes shut on their own, not noticing I went back lying in bed.

 _So this is how my day officially ends._


	2. Mornings Would Never be the Same

**SHERLOCK's POV**

 _Who am I kidding?_

I thought I could finally rest this unending brain machinery of mine. I was wrong. I never got back to sleep after having that stupid nightmare.

 _And fuck, why would John be in it?_

I took a deep breath, which in my opinion at the very least, keeps my systems tranquil, and then started to flood questions to exercise this bloody stupid brain!

 _Why does the earth get to revolve around the sun? Where do we put all the carbon we exhale after we use it for respiration?What's the most effective way to cure cancer without the patient dying? Why are human beings so fallible?_ _What does John have to do with any of these things happen to me?_ Well, I'll be damned for including the last one, and too anguished to know what the answer might be. _Later that morning_ … I have left my consciousness open for six hours, forty-two minutes, and estimatedly five seconds. Yes, I think John quite thinks that I really had a good night's sleep. Well, we've all been fooled. However, I find myself being productive at my leisure. I have made five sonatas to be added on my violin compositions, read Martin Heidegger's _Sein Und Zeit_ wholly for the fourth time now, and I still question his definition of "nowhere", and made ruckus out of a porn chat website by figuring out that a boy was cyber-fucking his own step brother via Skype, in which both of them never actually met. Now I'm up to the living room to try my compositions. It has been very humid in Baker Street recently even at this very hour of sunrise, so I decided to take off my shirt while trying to figure out what note should my second composition end with. It's now 5:45 AM. John never wakes up before 7 AM.

I picked up where I left my violin's bow, and was immediately coped with my hands on the strings as I started playing. Seeing Baker Street by the window at sunrise still is one of the most beautiful things I have seen in this life of mine.

 **JOHN's POV**

DAMN THIS STUPID CLIMATE AND I HATE HOW I CAN'T GET ENOUGH SLEEP!

This recent effect of climate change here in Baker Street has really turned every good thing that the morning sun gives. I keep on waking up with perspirations and damn, it's too hot to sleep even with just pajamas on.

I sighed. I looked at my phone. It's still 5:43 AM. The sun just lit the sky from its slumber. I figured to try out a new music application I bought yesterday. I plugged my earphones on and listened to it. It was just right to calm my nerves about these temperature changes. Then I thought, maybe a little glass of water can keep me from dehydration. So I walked through my door to the kitchen to get some, not knowing I forgot something on, or maybe off…

 **SHERLOCK'S POV**

Ah, finally! A shift from A minor to E minor was the key to the perfection of my second piece.

Moving on to my third piece, I checked on every possible changes I want to employ on my third piece, then I started on playing the chords. I was then back into my world of music, not minding anyone or anything. I'm still pretty much confident that my flatmate is still inclined to his dreams and finally…

 **JOHN'S POV**

Wow, I really like the bass system of this new app. It seems I can't hear anything but only the music. I went to the kitchen feeling the song by lip syncing to it. I got my glass of water and when I finally tried to go back to my room I…

 **SHERLOCK's POV**

… I turned around finishing my shortest composition. I looked for my bow which I put last on my living room chair when I saw John, bobbing his head, while ridiculously mouthing some unclear words from the point where I am standing. I've never seen him this silly and found it amusing. Never seen this side of him for the past year we've been flatmates, although I am pretty sure he loves British folk music. I just observed and stared at him as he happily poured a glass of water. And also may I note his lack of…

 **JOHN's POV**

… felt something was watching me from afar. I startled when I saw someone and shit, I knew it was him! It was the bloody Sherlock Holmes looking at me like I am being his proper fool, which I guess is really what I am right now. He was there, on his violin-playing spot, him, his toned but not-so buff muscles, and those disheveled hair of him, all of them staring at me. Fuck, what have I done to be shamed like this? I took off my earphones and looked at him. He's glaring at me with amusement.

"Y-You're awake?" Shit, I was the first to speak. I tried to open up the conversation with the least portion of guilt.

"Yes. Just a moment ago I finished my third sonata. Guess you finished something in there too, looking like an idiot."

"Well, a good song can really start the morning right, aside from tea of course." I am really trying hard at this. "Look, whatever you saw at that very instant was just me liking some music, tried to use my latest music phone application recommended by my colleague I bumped last week. Then I was having a hard time waking up due to the heat and I…" Damn, why am I giving him some explanation?

"Seems you got a lot of explaining back there, you even forget that you're just in your underwear, John." He looked at me with a chuckle and a hint of embarrassment.

Those last words were what tore my morning apart. I, John fucking Watson, left my room with only my underwear on.

FUCK! FUCK THIS MAN AND MY SELF!


	3. The Victim of Bleeding Heart Yard

**JOHN'S POV**

I was about to go home when I received a text message from Sherlock. He wants me in the Scotland Yard immediately. Well, he can still text me formally, and I thought the awkwardness last night regarding the "underwear incident of 221B" has now subsided.

The ambience of the Scotland Yard still impresses me. Minimal phones were ringing, coffee is just brewing on the side, and police officers were really calm, just hovering some file reports and some even do chitchats. London is peaceful these days, or so I've thought.

But my thoughts changed after seeing Sherlock through the glass wall of D.I. Greg Lestrade's office. He was grinning: a smile from his mouth extending to both ears. Lestrade on the other hand, looks the opposite.

London? Peaceful? Bollocks.

Upon entering, I was immediately shaken by Lestrade's voice.

"Hey John, can you guess why your partner's been grinning widely?"

"I don't know. Give a case any day that interests him like mu-…"

"Murder. Yes! Murder! Oh, what a perfect day has started for me!" Yes, Sherlock said that. He was clapping his hands like a foolish buffoon.

"Yes, yes, now calm down, little child. Tell me about it." I said, now getting curious as to what made Sherlock Holmes excited like a child waiting for Santa's gift.

"There was a murder scene, 2 o'clock in the morning. A man named Julius Scheilder, a training biology professor at the University of London. Cause of death: a knife plunged into his heart, giving him a direct death." Lestrade explains.

My curiosity is now heightened. "And where did this happen?"

Sherlock, who was looking outside the office through the glass turns to me and said, "Oh my dear doctor, this is where things get interesting. The place of crime: Bleeding Heart Yard."

Now this is what I call, a case.

 **SHERLOCK'S POV**

Oh what a beautiful Monday it has been! A new murder case has set upon my feet as I saw Lestrade's hideous face opposite of mine. A peculiar case was handed to me, a dead man with a pierced heart, died in the grounds of London's Bleeding Heart Yard.

These had gotten my adrenaline at its finest, and yes a killer with a playful mind! Like I always said to John, I don't like riddles, but then games, like these, are really my "thing".

"Lestrade, it has been a pleasure to always call me in times of these police idiocies." I said with a smug, and the detective inspector rolled his eyes on me. "Come on John, we have a murder scene to inspect."

I left the office, knowing that my blogger would follow me. Upon reaching the office's outside grounds, I called a taxi and he spoke to me.

"Well congratulations irritable consulting detective! A case is in our midst."

"Luckily it came John. I was about to study the mechanisms of how slitting the wrists can give a direct and slow death to a victim when the detective inspector called."

I was surprised that John didn't nagged me about it. "Well, that's your thing." He smiled at me. I think he was happy for the both of us to be working another case together. The taxi now arrived.

"Well Sherlock, the game is on, again." He told me before getting into the car.

We arrived at the murder scene, and still it is full of futile working officers doing their shitty work. I don't see Donovan or Anderson so that lessens the stupidity I feel around.

Anyway we directly went to examine the body and oh God, I love how it was perfectly done by the criminal. The victim, this Julius Scheilder, was a Scottish man, and…

"Why do you say he's Scottish? He looks like us." I was interrupted by John's voice. Then I figured, I was thinking out loud.

I went on examining the body. "Well, judging by the ring in his left middle finger, and a trace of that same ring in his right middle finger, I'd say he's been three years married, and only Scottish people has that tradition of putting the ring on the right middle finger and transferring it to the left upon marriage." I looked at John. "Time of death?"

"Watch is destroyed and stopped at 1:36 AM."

"Hmmm. This man is working longer than his marriage, possibly eight years. He never takes his glasses off, only on special occasions, as the tan line follows his glasses from this portion of the head to this part."

"Sherlock, the murder weapon's a knife."

"Yes, an F-S Commando knife, which means the killer is, or obtained high class military combat equipment."

"A walk-by encounter with the murderer."

"Correct." I looked at the stabbed area and I realized how magnificently the killer euthanized the victim. "This is a handi-work of both a professional surgeon and a ferocious beast, John. L ook at this portion." I showed him how it was marvelously done.

"Judging by the orientation of the stabbed wound, the cut was made horizontally and was directed under the rib-cage and then to the heart, and was penetrated even more to ensure death. The amount of lost blood tells us so. The killer left the knife for an impression."

"An impression?" John said. "Why did you say so?"

I smirked. "To let us know that he is skillful and a show-off."

 **JOHN'S POV**

I woke up earlier than I used to, since the case still really intrigues me. I decided to read some of the paperworks Lestrade sent us regarding the victim. As I sit on my chair and handled the documents, I then again realized how awesome Sherlock is yesterday, for deducing each and single cause of the victim's death.

Well, enough of that, I looked through the information on the paper. Julius Scheilder, 39 years old, a biology professor in training to get a permanent position at the prestigious University of London. His wife is pregnant for four weeks. Oh, that poor woman and child!

Moreover, he is a topnotcher of the Licensure Examinations for Teachers, and had worked for a part time job for a biotechnological company called Medical Assurances Inc. As I hovered to his papers, I read that he was indeed offered a job at the company, but decided to pursue the teaching profession one year before his marriage. After that, he took the teaching job at the University. But now he's dead.

"Found anything interesting?" I was startled by Sherlock's voice. He was really sweaty, probably went for a morning jog.

"Ah… Uhm… Not quite really. Just the life history of our Bleeding Heart victim." He nods in approval of me, as he wipes his hair with a towel.

"Anyway Sherlock, this killer of ours, do you think the name of the place is just coincidental with what happened to Sheilder?"

He then drinks water from the refrigerator where his head and thumb specimens lie in peace. "We'll never know John. Not until he attacks a second victim."

I was amazed by this statement. "A second -… Wait, you mean there will be more deaths?!"

"Oh John, we are dealing with a serial killer yes. But the motive's still not clear. And yes, serial killers do kill in a successive manner." Now he tries to turn down the conversation with sarcasm.

"You're just stating the obvious."

"These types of murderers John, they may be playful." His funny tone now changed into a serious one. "Yes playful, but the most dangerous of them all. They may attack randomly, or in patterns. But whoever this is, we must be very careful, so that none of us would get hurt."

"Yeah tell that to yourself." I joked.

"This is no joke John. Whoever that person is, he will not think twice to kill you."

Tension and fear filled my entire body. Sherlock left me there, sitting on my couch with a rush of heart beats: a mixture of fear and excitement. This will be another tough fight.


End file.
